Gates of Sleep
by Catwings1026
Summary: Scarlett, sitting long vigil by the bed of an injured Snake Eyes, struggles to come to terms with the guilt she feels - she was, in part, the reason he was wounded.  Story to take place between G.I. JOE ORIGINS #5 and #6, IDW continuity.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: G.I. Joe and all associated characters and concepts are property of Hasbro Inc. I'm just one of a large family of fans who likes telling family stories – no profit needed, no profit earned.

**Author's Note:** The events in this story are written to take place between G.I. Joe: Origins #5 and #6. In this continuity of the Joeverse, Snake Eyes was already disfigured and mute when recruited into the team by Duke and Scarlett, but any chance that his face could be rebuilt at a later point were scratched during a battle with Chimera, when Scarlett flung a bottle of acetate at the villain, not realizing that he would duck and Snake Eyes would take the liquid full in the face. Chimera's subsequent attempt to shoot Snake Eyes ignited the fluid, burning his face past any hope of repair.

The detailed information on meditation techniques was given to me by my husband Tom, a skilled metitator himself, and some of the plot is based on anecdotes he has shared with me– though embellished and shaped into narrative. (Love you, sweetie.) Information on meditation practiced by ninjas was found on the websites "Project Meditation: Ninja Meditation" and "Reconnecting with the Earth: Ninja Meditation" and "Change the Paradigm" – seach for the section "Kuji-In." You may find the details of the sha meditation in terms of new age chakras interesting in relationship to our two protagonists… I certainly did, though it's not why I chose this particular meditation. Ninjas did utilize meditation for any of a number of things, from focus and strength-building to – according to some – invisibility and telepathy.

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><p><strong>Gates of Sleep <strong>by Catwings1026

_There are twin Gates of Sleep.  
><em>_One, they say, is called the Gate of Horn and it offers easy passage to all true shades.  
><em>_The other glistens with ivory, radiant, flawless,  
>but through it the dead send false dreams up toward the sky.<br>__- Virgil_

Through the weightlessness of freefall, there had been pain.

The pain in his face, the burning; the wrenching of tendons and joints as he'd caught the ledge of a lower floor with one hand, forcing fingertips to bear his full weight and all the momentum of his plummet down the elevator shaft behind it. The singing agony of muscles pushed beyond exertion as he'd found a second handhold, then a toe hold, forced his way upward, length by length. The world shrank to the bare rectangle of life and light above him, and the instinctive fight against gravity and pain.

Snake Eyes remembered the hands. He'd felt the ninety degree angle, the smooth emptiness of the top of the shaft, no more to climb, and reached above, his body numbing now as shock set in, the heat of flames diminished to a hot smolder as the last of the silk scarf burned away, crumbling from the ruins of his face. Fighting to push himself those few meters more, feeling the hard edge of the shaft under his forearms, then his elbows… and the hands coming down on his wrists, a second strength lending itself to his own, hauling him onto solid floor as his own strength finally gave out.

Then the arms, encircling him, half-lifting him from collapse – strong arms, but gentle as well, cradling him as the convulsive shaking began, his entire body feeling doused in ice water. His eyes, miraculously protected by the flight goggles, struggled to focus through the pain-haze. It was Scarlett, that had been the name. His teammate, Scarlett. Her eyes were fixed on him, rimmed with tears, and as the darkness crept in around the edges of his vision and the ringing in his ears grew to a roar, she spoke, a choking whisper…

"Snake Eyes… I am so sorry..."

Then there were footsteps and other voices, seemingly miles away, and a light above him – and as the voices drifted into silence, Snake Eyes allowed the healing darkness to swallow him.

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><p>Scarlett felt her head drop, caught it, rubbed her eyes. She rose, stretched, paced the dimly lit hospital room to bring feeling back into her locked knees and lower back, then returned to the chair she was beginning to hate with a passion she never alotted to inanimate objects. The near- silence was thick cotton wool throughout the room, the dimness of the corridor beyond blending with the dimness within. The wall clock reported 0300… and it felt like days since she'd begun her silent vigil.<p>

In the bed, the still form of Snake Eyes slept, bandages swathing his face – just as he'd been when she first met him. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he lived – the heart monitor confirming the fact for eyes that could play tricks at this point. Scarlett dropped elbows to her knees, rested her head in her hands.

There were no words to say… none left that hadn't already fallen on literally deaf ears. The ache inside her had softened to a dull, guilty throb rather than the raw misery it had been, and her own pulse seemed to beat out her penance… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

The doctor had said he would live… but would he want to? The only chance that his battered face could be reconstructed had been snatched, literally burned away. And if he did want to, how could she face him? They were dead to the world now, both of them, committed to a duty that had burned every bridge they'd had. They were Joes, teammates, and – for lack of any other – family, now. Their unit was all any of them had in the world. They would live together, eat together, possibly die together, if a mission went wrong. Could she bear to see him every day, knowing that every scar on his face was her fault?

_Stop making this about you, girl._

_It's not about me._

_Really? 'How can I face him? What will he think of me?'_

…

Not good, she told herself. Not good, if you're arguing with yourself and losing the argument. She reached out, took the nearest still hand in both of hers. She regarded it, the layers of scars – a geography of pain, warm in her cold hands. Bending her head, she squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the tears of fatigue and pain that threatened, as a shuddering sigh escaped into the stillness.

* * *

><p>Somewhere within his mind, Snake Eyes stirred. The mental darkness of complete unconsciousness faded, and he became foggily aware of the waking world. Pain. Yes, there was pain, but it was muted behind the fog of painkillers… and he'd been in pain before. Pain was good, in its own way. Pain meant you were still alive. He could not open his eyes… the lids were leaden, crusted, and he didn't particularly feel like opening them anyhow. His mind was awake, his body unresponsive.<p>

Not a problem. He knew his body would come around in time… it always did. For now, he concentrated on his breathing. In, out… in, out. He allowed his senses to feed him information, willed his mind to absorb and process it.

The quiet sounds of the hospital room were expected, even familiar. Hell, he'd spent enough time in one to know. A low, breathy sigh, close by – he wasn't alone. He became aware that someone was holding his hand – two hands, smaller than his own, cool and smooth, feminine. If he could have smiled, he would have… it had been a long, long time since anyone had held his hand.

Footsteps further off, where he estimated a door would be. They paused, and the soft pressure of the hands vanished. Snake Eyes heard his companion shift, straightening and turning to face the newcomer.

"I brought you a tray from the mess." He knew the man's voice – Duke. "The doc says you've got to eat… and rest."

"Thanks… but I'm not hungry." The female voice was weary, so achingly tired it cracked, but it gave him the identification he needed – Scarlett. She was the last thing he remembered before going under… and here she was again.

"He says that he'll make it a medical order if you don't take a break." The footsteps neared, the voice closer now. "Scarlett… you can't do anything for him. He would understand."

"How the hell do you know whether he'd understand or not?" Scarlett's voice, biting and sharp, hushed as she caught herself. "Duke, you barely know him. I barely know him. And now, this…"

"Don't do this to yourself, Red." Though the words were kind, the tension between his companions was tangible… Snake Eyes could almost feel Scarlett bristle. Duke's voice lowered, gentle, and the rustle of uniform fabric indicated that he'd dropped to a crouch, perhaps to be on eye level with her. There was something there, behind the words, a deep well of emotion. There was a history in that voice. "Don't fight a battle you don't have to. You're not alone in this. He isn't alone. I'll sit for you while you sleep."

"No." She cut off the protest before it could start. "This is my watch. Snake Eyes… he's here because of me."

"He's here because of an accident. You couldn't have…"

"It doesn't matter." A deep, shuddering intake of breath. "He had my back. He shouldn't have been there, god knows how he was there, but he was, and he had my back. And now… I've got his. At least until he wakes up and sends me packing himself." A long pause, filled with words unspoken. "Duke… please."

A sigh, then… "Fine. Just… I'll be outside if you need someone to spell you. Okay?" There was no audible reply. Boots on tile floor receded, and the silence of the room returned.

Snake Eyes turned the conversation over silently. It made him uncomfortable to hear the pain in Scarlett's voice, the self-blame. He knew she'd thrown the solvent, had seen the liquid arc past their adversary's shoulder. She hadn't known he was there; it shouldn't have mattered, even if she did. She'd done what any good soldier would do – used the weapon closest at hand. And she'd no idea, no idea at all how quick the reflexes of the Chimera were…

_Of course, things might feel differently once the drugs wear off. _

He turned his focus inward, away from the information he'd just absorbed. Time would come for debriefing, for dealing with the events of the recent past; he had never been one to dwell on what he could not change. Only the present mattered right now.

His head was beginning to ache softly, his nose to itch – perversely, the irritation was a good sign; tissue damaged past healing would be dead to feeling. He could feel bandages in half a dozen spots around his body, but his face was the most firmly bound. Nothing new there. Another mission, another collection of scars. His body would heal in time – but there were ways of speeding the process, helping it along, channeling his resources to where they were needed most. He had the time he needed to slip into that meditative healing state now. Scarlett would see to it that he was undisturbed.

He settled his mind, meticulously relaxed each and every muscle. The trick to meditation, he'd once tried to explain to a friend, was not to ignore the world around you, but to become one with it. He'd had a lifetime of practice. He felt the warmth of the bed, the mattress cupping his body. He moved past the stiffness of bandages, drew in the soft night-hospital sounds around him, making all that part of his inner stillness, until his ears no longer registered the presence of sound and his tactile senses were just a whisper to his conscious mind.

Deep, slow, regular breaths spoke to his heartbeat, which in turn deepened and slowed. As he'd been taught so long ago, he opened his mind and spirit to the power of the earth around him, grounding himself in its vastness, setting his spirit's roots into its solidity. He pushed downward, past concrete and steel, into the earth soil itself – past clay and rock, root and water. He stretched his spirit-roots deep, opened himself to the Earth's own supporting power, visualized the molten core of the earth itself, like a second sun, pulsing with a life-force all its own.

He was in and of the power, one with the earth, floating between two suns – the star-sun in the heavens, the core-sun below, warming and healing his body, his spirit. There was no need to do in this state, no need to think – the healing power would flow through him like a stream through a dry runnel, filling him and reinforcing what had been begun by his teammates.

From childhood, training with the other boys of the clan, he had internalized the words of his masters – _It is not the way of the meditator to seek to heal oneself. Open yourself to send the power where it will be needed most. Be the stream that flows, leading water to the parched fiel_d.

Freed from the tethers of physical reality, his spirit stretched itself and reached outward.

In his mind, Snake Eyes found himself in the garden courtyard of his clan. A warm breeze stirred the cherry blossoms, birdsong drifted down the wind, and the stream running through the bottom of the garden chattered softly to itself, sparkling in the sunlight. It was his calm center of the universe – that one safe place, that haven of memory. The hours he had spent under and up in the trees, the games and training with the other boys, the cricket-song evenings watching fireflies blink on and off above the grass hummocks, or tracing the pictures among the stars – even the image, so readily brought to mind, carried with it comfort and security. He settled himself beneath his favorite tree, formed his hands into the _mudra_, the hand position, of _sha - _naijishi-in, "seal of the inner lion," the posture of healing meditation, and allowed the Soft Master's voice to guide him in the mantra…

_On ha ya baï shi ra man ta ya sowaka…_ The Soft Master's memory wrapped around him, a warmth of the spirit. _On ha ya baï shi ra man ta ya sowaka…_ Peace and calm, centered and grounded. The healing energies were a soft ember within him. _Allow the healing to flow through you… be the stream… as you are healed, so bring healing to others…_

_Yes, Master, _he affirmed. He could almost feel the Soft Master's qi about him, feel the warmth of his life-energy vibrating from the master to his students. How they had loved the old man! To a boy, they had venerated him – not because he was kinder than the Hard Master, but because his very being seemed to make loving him a natural act, unconscious. He'd an uncanny knack, even for a ninja master, of knowing precisely the emotional and mental state of each boy in his care – who most needed his gentle touch, his nurturing guidance. He was healing, and nurturance, and love to the boy who would be Snake Eyes.

Unbidden, Scarlett's face came to him – the pain in her eyes as she'd looked down at him in her arms, blaming herself…

_Ah, now you begin to see as a master of healing sees._

_Master?_

_There is need. Center yourself, my son. Be the stream that flows to parched land. As you are healed, so bring healing to one who needs it as much as you do._

_Yes, Master._

* * *

><p>To be continued -<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: G.I. Joe and all associated characters and concepts are property of Hasbro Inc. and IDW comics. I'm just one of a large family of fans who likes telling family stories – no profit needed, no profit earned.

**Author's Note:** I apologize in advance; I'm having some difficulty getting the formatting of my story to stick. I've tried a number of different things, and none seem to be working on this site. Grrr.

Also – the next few chapters take place within Scarlett's dream. I'm trying to replicate, as best I can, that intangible and somewhat illogical quality of dreams; I think we've all had memories of dreams where things don't necessarily make sense to our waking minds, but they make perfect sense while we're asleep – things or people appearing out of nowhere, sudden awareness of details that you'd never note in your waking life. Of course, that comes across to me as sloppy narrative – so critique and suggestions are, of course, welcome.

**Gates of Sleep **by Catwings1026

Scarlett dreamed.

In her mind, she wandered the pine forests of her Georgia childhood, the paths she'd known so well once upon a time. The trees were as familiar as old friends, each dip and bend in the path part of her pacing feet. The further she wandered, however, the more she began to sense a difference… a change. The further into the forest she trekked, the more… wrong… it was.

It wasn't something she could pinpoint, that wrongness. Her father, her brothers, her grandfather had all been avid hunters and fishermen. Camping and hunting, fishing and hiking were as much a part of her childhood memories as karate tournaments and rough-housing in the back yard; by ten she could field-dress a deer as easily as other girls could whip out a batch of sugar cookies.

It was true that she'd never found much appeal in gun hunting, her brothers' passion; the bow was her preferred weapon, and despite the ribbing from her brothers for such "old fahioned" methods, she'd bag her buck as often as not. It was a source of pride for her - scorning her brothers' elaborate ground hides and tree stands, she would take herself off to her own private stalking grounds in the gray, misty autumn pre-dawns.

She'd never admitted it to her brothers, of course, but hunting itself paled to the scouting. None of her family held with baiting the deer with oats or corn; you took your buck honestly or not at all. And so her memory was thick with the hours rambling the forests months before hunting season opened, seeking out the places where the deer laid up, where they grazed, the preferred paths to stream and pond. The subtle art of picking out the game trails, of noticing the bit of ear or antler protruding from the thicket – the stalking, becoming one with the forest – that had been her greatest pleasure.

_And… maybe that's it, right now. I feel like a stranger here… but is it just that? No…_

Rather than the jay-broken stillness of the midday wood, filled with dappled patches of sunlight and the footstep-hushing dry needles beneath her feet, or the twilight thick with cricket-song and the trilling of toads, this dream-forest was silent. No sound of footfall, no song of bird, no rustle of squirrel overhead or on the forest floor. The deeper into the forest she moved, the more the colors bled away until all colors were muted, fading to grays – the sky above the meshed branches was overcast, heavy with rain. And the smell…

The scent of destruction filled the air, palpable as a brick wall – burned wood and wet ash, the reek of burned flesh, burned hair. The trees thinned about her, the undergrowth vanishing– revealing a smoking wasteland of burned trunks and downed trees, smoldering against a gray ground mist and wall of fog, the remains of a recent and ferocious fire.

_I know this place…_

Her steps had led her, as if they had minds and memories of their own, to the one safe place in her girlhood world… her own place, her secret spot, screened from prying brotherly eyes by tangles of brush, the sound of water over rocks a curtain to keep the outside world at bay. But this was changed, this dream landscape. The fire-ravaged landscape was a charred skeleton of her memories.

There was the bluff above the river, nakedly exposed through blackened shrub brambles – the bluff she'd retreated to so often, leaning against the grandfather pine with a book as water chattered softly over river stones below. The sound of the river was still there – no forest fire could take that away – but the old pine, her dear friend, was reduced to a skeletal a charcoal log. She sat on it, tears welling in her eyes, numb.

_I was just here. Months ago. I came to say goodbye before… _

Before she'd died to the world. Before she'd turned her back on everything she'd known, and given herself over to serve her country. Before…

Something crackled behind her, and she was on her feet, eyes narrowed.

Nothing.

_This is not right._

The mist thickened, coiled at the ground like a hundred smoky snakes. The silence, as dreamworld-bizzare as anything, seemed to grow louder – or, at any rate, thicker. She sensed, rather than saw, something just outside her line of sight… a shadow where no shadow should be.

_Something's out there._

Her hand went to her back, instinct born not simply of military training but all those years of deer hunting, and there was her crossbow. She didn't even have to think – her fingers found the bolt, fitted it into its groove, and she sighted down the length of the bow.

The wolf materialized as if from nowhere, black against the gray mist, and bared its teeth, eyes narrowed and fur rising along its spine.

A crashing, as of a heavy body moving rapidly through undergrowth, swung Scarlett's attention away from the wolf - and if the sound hadn't been enough to draw her, what happened next assured her full focus. A creature careened through the swirling mist, vast and radiating menace, stopping and heaving itself to hind legs as thick as small tree trunks. A mountain of fur and muscle towered above her, its roar shaking the ground beneath her feet, and then a blast of flame lanced out from the creature's mouth, crisping the bushes closest to her. She flung herself away just in time, rolling, and came up in a crouch, bow still in hand. She loosed the bolt, rose even as she reached for another, backpedalled to get a better sense of what this thing was.

The first bolt had struck home, burying itself in fur and shoulder muscle, but the creature seemed to notice nothing. It swayed above her, lumbered forward a step, massive forepaw swinging – she felt the breeze of its near-miss on her face, heard claws whistling through air, increased the pace of her retreat. Turning her back and running would be a mistake, she sensed… but shuffling backward, it would be only a matter of time until the creature struck again.

_What the hell is it? A fire-breathing bear? _The shape of the body was familiar – legs, paws, torso all shrieking BEAR - but the size all wrong… it was easily twice, three times the size of the largest black bear she'd ever seen. The fur was the brown-red of dried blood, tipped with silver… the head more massive, absurdly small eyes glaring at her with a mindless fury. _Grizzly? No, it's big even for a grizzly, and we don't HAVE grizzlies in Georgia. And it has… two heads? _

Yes. Two heads. Where a moment before a single, monstrous ursine head had snarled at her, now were TWO… a second swiveling forward, only this new head was no bear. The mountain lion opened its mouth and screamed a challenge to her, canines as long as her hand bared, as the grizzly head roared a counterpoint. Together, they belched a column of flame - and this time she dove under it, towards the monster. As though cued, the creature's long, whiplike tail snaked up – and it was no tail. The fanged, forked-tongue head of a rattler the size of a python gaped, reptilian eyes flashing.

_Two heads… a snake for a tail… _The sudden nagging feeling that this creature should be familiar distracted her – this creature out of some demented fever-dream. Something in its form tugged at the back of her mind, knowledge long catalogued and set aside… something important… _Focus, Shana, focus! Identify later – fight NOW! _She loosed the second bolt, dove to the side as it flew, came up reloading. Like the first, the bolt plunged home – to no visible effect. _Damn, damn, damn…_

The panther head screamed again. The beast dropped to all fours as the snake-tail lashed back and forth, and both mammal heads dropped, hackles rising and eyes locking onto her, lips bared in feral snarls. She took a step back, slowly – and the rattler tail lashed forward over the monster's back with the hiss of lava hitting the sea, gold and black eyes unblinking as it stared down at her, mere meters away. Scarlett froze. A fear as palpable as an iceberg gripped her, and her legs locked, eyes riveted on the creature before her. The thought, vaguely, of how birds and small mammals were said to freeze before reptilian predators as though hypnotized. She watched, muscles unresponsive, as the forelegs crouched, muscles bunching beneath that blood-colored hide.

_Oh, shit… it's going to… _The thought cut itself short as too many things erupted simultaneously. The monster lunged, an avalanche of mindless blood-lust. She tore free of the fear, pulled the crossbow trigger, sighting and firing on pure adrenaline and instinct – and suddenly a smaller form was between her and the oncoming monstrosity, launching itself into the air…

The point of the crossbow bolt , instead of burying itself shaft-deep in the mountain lion's eye, instead struck the hind flank of the interposing wolf. Still, the animal's momentum carried it true – it landed between the two heads, whirled, and sank its teeth into the ear of the grizzly head. The beast howled from two throats and reared, grizzly head shaking violently, and flung the wolf off as though it were a leaf, insubstantial.

The wounded animal cried out, landing heavily and awkwardly some distance away. Scarlett, however, loosed her fourth bolt as the wolf was tossed clear, and this one found its mark – that same wounded ear. With a shriek of pain and anger, the monster whirled and retreated, snake-tail lashing as the lion-head snarled over its shoulder. As suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone – the sound of its flight vanishing into the distance.

Instinctively, her eyes scanned for the wolf. It was gone. She could see the furrow of charred earth where it had landed, skidding for a distance – but it, too, was gone. She dropped to a knee, touched the ground, probing, as she'd examined so many deer beds in her youth. Her finger came back sticky with blood and burned earth. The wolf was gone, but wounded – wounded by her hand.

_Dammit… _She hadn't meant to shoot the wolf, not from the first. It hadn't done more than frighten her, and logically, she'd likely frightened it first. Given the chance, she knew a wolf would flee rather than fight a human…

But this one had flung itself between her and that nightmare of fur and fangs and claws.

_Shana, it's a damned poor bow hunter who leaves a beast to bleed to death because her shot's sloppy and she's too damned lazy to track it down, _her father had intoned so long ago. _You gonna hunt with a bow, gal, you best be ready to follow up every shot. I won't have no child of mine disrespecting the creatures out here._

Never mind that her brothers had shot and wounded their share of bucks, and moaned mightily about having to follow the blood trail to its end. It was easier for them, with their guns. Scarlett hadn't had to wound more than one buck to learn the lesson well enough not to repeat it – and the misery in the animal's eyes before her second arrow put it down was fresh in her mind still.

Ears open for any sign the nightmare-beast might return, Scarlett focused her eyes on the ground and began to methodically follow the injured wolf's trail. A broken twig here, a splash of red there…

She owed it that much, at least.

The light was failing, but Scarlett had passed out of the burned territories and was now deep among the living pines and scattered hardwoods. She'd found the bloody bolt with visible teeth marks some time ago – and now the wound was bleeding freely, making her job of tracking that much easier, despite the encroaching night. She didn't look forward to the end of the trail, however… despite her brothers' best efforts, she'd never believed in the Big Bad Wolf – or Little Redhead-with-Hood, who usually wound up eaten by Granny Wolf because she didn't listen to her brothers' sage advice, and found the idea of werewolves simply silly. If anything, she admired wolves, the way they ran in packs, formed close-knit family groups, cared for one another.

_Like the Joes_, she thought. A wolf would be a fitting symbol for her team. _And… what? Follow that analogy, and I'll start feeling like I'm tracking down an injured Duke to put him out of his misery… _

Not that she hadn't had that very thought on occasion, but still…

She didn't want to be doing this. She didn't want to kill the wolf, if for no other reason than its absurdly illogical behavior. But in the Georgia forests, with heat and humidity and insect life in profusion, even a simple scratch could "go septic" all too quickly. She couldn't condemn any animal to a lingering, painful death… not when it was her fault.

_Again. My fault again. _Her heart thumped woodenly. _And I can't even properly say I'm sorry, this time…_

Well, she could. She could try, at least. Not that it would do a speck of good for her, or the wolf.

Providing, of course, that the wolf would let her anywhere near it.

Scarlett stopped on the path, scanning the surroundings. Ahead, the corpse of a majestic pine lay across her path… ferns crouched close to its shadowy underbelly, tuffets of yarrow bloomed in the patch of earth open to the sunlight. And there – she saw it now. A den, a wide hole dug out from where the roots had left the soil, filled with darkness. Slowly, setting each foot down with conscious thought, she crept forward, crouched. The blood trail led clearly to the den. Slowly, she raised her crossbow…

… and was hurled to the ground as one hundred pounds of muscle and fur cannonballed into her with a snarl of fury. It was the explosive voice in her mind, however, that sent her reeling.

*You, noisy, smelly human female!* a deep, rough male voice roared in her mind. *Give me one good reason why I should not rip out your flimsy throat – you, who bring death to your own forest and throw flying teeth at those who would warn you!*

She shook her head, trying to clear it of the voice – it hadn't been audible, she hadn't HEARD a thing – but the rumbling growl that overlaid the voice, THAT she had heard… and could still hear. Blinking, she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes of the black wolf as it pinned her, teeth bared and protruding tongue curling in fury.

_Blue eyes? Wolves don't have blue eyes… _She'd seen blue-eyed huskies, odd-eyed shepherd dogs with one blue and one brown eye, but never a blue-eyed wolf. Not even in photographs. And this wasn't canine blue, the pale blue that was almost gray – this was a vivid violet-blue, like a Siamese cat's eyes. _Or a human's…_

Just as quickly as it had pounced, the wolf was off her, leaping a safe distance back – wrenching her bow from her hands as it went, tossing it into the ferns with a derisive flip. Those blue eyes glared at her with unmistakable fury.

"Are… are you _talking_ to me?" Cautiously, she drew herself up to a sitting position, keeping both hands were the wolf could see them and scooting backward until her back pressed against tree trunk – a modicum of protection, at least.

*Stupid female. Do you see anyone else here?* The wolf swivled its head, licking quickly at the bloody gash in its flank, before snapping its attention back to her. *You stink of a pack of men. You are so noisy a birth-deaf pup could hear you. And you HURT me – stupid, stupid human female!*

_I'm talking… to a wolf. A talking wolf. A very, very angry talking wolf. _She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the wolf snapped at the air, its growl rising in volume and pitch.

*Stay still! You will not bite ME with another flying tooth! I am hurt, yes, but I can still fight you!*

"I don't WANT to fight you." Scarlett's mind was whirling, trying to call up every bit of information she had ever learned about wolves. Look down, and away… don't make eye contact. Behave submissively. "You're right. You could rip out my throat before I found my bow. You're stronger than I am. You would win a fair fight."

*Yes, I would!* The wolf's eyes were still hard, but its lips relaxed ever so slightly. Its tail still raised, ears shoved forward aggressively, it seemed to pull itself up straight, hackles raised. *Throwing flying teeth is NOT a fair fight.*

"Better than a gun," Scarlett muttered, but at this, the wolf cocked its head, apparently considering this.

*True. Guns are most unfair. Perhaps you are not so stupid.* It took a step forward, but whined as the injured flank moved. Again it licked at the wound, keeping the weight off that leg, and seemed to wince.

"If you let me, I might be able to help," she offered quietly. The wolf's eyes flashed, its ears flattening.

*You came to end me! Why should I trust you?*

He was right, of course. She'd planned to put the wolf out of its misery… she'd been thinking hard about that, in fact.

_Thinking_.

She closed her eyes, clearing her thoughts, and pictured the wolf running free, uninjured. Then she pictured the wolf, its flank badly infected, barely hobbling along, rear paw dragging. Instantly, the wolf growled.

_Are you reading my mind, or just the pictures I put there? _No reply. Pictures only, then, like a television with the sound turned off. Well, that would explain why the wolf knew she was planning on putting it out of its misery – but not the regret she'd felt. She frowned, then constructed a third image in her mind, talking it through as she built it, layer upon layer.

"Because… I can help you. Because you can understand me, at least a bit, and that means I can tell you what I need to do." She nodded at a nearby clump of yarrow. "The wood is full of this plant… my grandpa called it woundwort, and said the old timers used to use it for medicine. I can clean the wound, make a poultice. If you let me help you."

One by one, the images flashed past her mind's eye, a mental slideshow. A wolf fleeing from Scarlett. The same wolf, watching calmly as she dressed the wound. The tiny flowers and feathery leaves of yarrow, then a mashed poultice, cool and soothing to the touch.

*Why?* And now she sensed that the question had changed – no longer, "Why should I trust you" but instead, "Why would you help me?"

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and held out her hands, palms up, the universal gesture of helplessness. _For those of us with hands, that is._

"Because you're right. I hurt you, when you were trying to help me. I didn't mean to, but I did. Please. Let me try to make things right."

The wolf licked at its flank again, then looked directly at her, hackles lowering slowly, ears still shoved forward – a gesture of dominance. It was not the sort of wolf the tree-huggers would put on a poster, she realized – despite the luxuriant black coat, its muzzle was lined with scars from fighting; its ears were notched, and the tip of one was missing entirely. There was even, she realized, a chunk of lip missing – the proud, bare flesh shone against the black fur. It blinked at her, slowly, acknowledging her careful scrutiny.

*Then I shall let you make things right, if you can.* The wolf lowered himself to the ground, eyes never leaving hers. *But woman, if you hurt me again, I swear I _WILL_ bite you!*


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: G.I. Joe and all associated characters and concepts are property of Hasbro Inc. and IDW comics. I'm just one of a large family of fans who likes telling family stories – no profit needed, no profit earned.

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><p><strong>GATES OF SLEEP<strong> by Catwings 1026

_You are far from your pack,_ the wolf said in her mind, breaking a long silence between them. _Are you alpha, or mate of the alpha?_

Scarlett glanced across from where she leaned against the fallen pine. The wolf, his wound bound with vines and a yarrow poultice, regarded her with those unnerving blue eyes, awaiting her answer. She'd expected him to leave once she'd cleaned and bound his wound – he could move easily now that the moist woundwort had numbed the gash, or at least retreat to his den under the tree to heal – but instead, he had trotted across the clearing to the base of a large rock and sat, watching her steadily.

"I'm a human, not a wolf," she replied. "I don't have a pack."

_You carry the scent of many with you, many males. If not your pack, then what?_

"My…" How to explain the Joes to a wolf? "My unit. Mostly men."

_Your pack. And you carry yourself as an alpha – you are alpha to these men?_

"Well, I guess that works as an analogy." She shifted, moving her retrieved crossbow as she did so. "I outrank some of them, if that's what you mean. But I'm not the highest ranking, not the alpha. And I'm not the… mate… of the alpha, either." A quick image of General Hawk flashed across her mind, and she wasn't sure whether the thought made her want to laugh or not. Mate of the alpha? Not in a million years... "A wolf pack is a family unit. My unit, my pack – we're not related."

_When a young wolf disperses from its home pack, it may take a mate and build a new pack. You are building a new pack?_

"So to speak. But not with a mate... it's more like… a pack of choice. We were invited to join, and we did." The wolf flicked his ears, considering this.

_An interesting concept._ The silence again. As the twilight under the trees deepened into full night, the form of the wolf became hazy, indistinct – a vague shadow, unmoving. The night-sounds grew – the Swainson's thrush, with its spiralling call; sounded in the distance. The high trill of toads, the quiet shuffling of something, a ways off, snuffling among the leaf-litter and fallen branches.

_You are troubled,_ the wolf said in Scarlett's mind. It wasn't a question. _Your spirit is unsettled. Why?_

She sighed. "I'm thinking of that… thing. I feel like I should know what it was. Like I've seen it before. It's there, just out of reach…" She shook her head.

_It is not the chimera that troubles you. _replied the wolf. Scarlett looked at him sharply.

"Chimera?"

_You know its name. You brought it here. _

The image of Chimera-the-man, eyes wild with rage, that makeshift mask, leaped into her mind's eye… she shuddered, blocking the memory, closed her eyes. Given the choice between flame-breathing monster and man, she preferred the monster. Its brutality, at least, was entirely animal.

_Why do you fear the man who hides his face?_ the wolf wanted to know.

"Stay out of my head!" she snapped, glaring now. The wolf, canine face inscrutable, did not so much as flinch.

_I am not "in" your head. I can simply touch the images you send – like reading a scent. You thought of the chimera, then strongly of the man who hides his face. _

"They have the same name. That's all."

_If you say so. _The wolf rose, stretched, and paced closer to her, sitting once more just out of arm's reach. _He hurt you? This man-chimera?_

She thought of Snake Eyes then, of how he'd appeared out of nowhere… coming up behind Chimera, just as she'd flung the solvent…

She forced the image from her mind, but not soon enough to block the mental sound of a pistol's report, not soon enough to drive out the image of Snake Eyes's head bursting into flames…

Somewhere far off, something roared, and she startled, fumbling for her bow… the sound was distant, but very much there. She settled once more, but every muscle was tensed.

So many monsters…

A soft bump jogged her arm, the pressure of something warm and broad, and she turned to find the blue eyes of the wolf staring into her own.

_You will call the beast, thinking like that. And you cannot fight it. If you fight, you will not win._

Before she could reply, the wolf was circling in place, lowing himself beside her. She could feel the muscle of his body beneath the fur, the warmth of his pelt companionably close. Unconsciously, she reached out, buried her fingers in the mass of fur at his neck, taking some comfort from that.

_You are not to blame for the harm that came to your friend._

"I am, though. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have been there..." Her fingers tangled in the fur, gripping it at the memory.

_Not so. He made his choice. He would run with his pack, or not at all. _

And that much, at least, was true. They had left Snake Eyes behind. He hadn't been part of the mission, not from the first... it hadn't even been something to consider; nobody had asked Snake Eyes himself how he felt about the decision. He had to heal, doctor's orders, and none of them had thought any less of him for that. But still, when the general had discovered that the mission had been compromised, he had managed to follow them, unordered, on his own reconnaisance... God only knew how...

And if he hadn't, things would have turned out quite differently for her.

_Your friend knew his heart. He knew his place was with his pack... a pack stands together, even the wounded. 'The pack is the strength of the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.'_

"The Law of the Jungle." She remembered that from long, long ago... from her grandfather reading Kipling's _The Jungle Book_ aloud before bedtime. She'd loved the stories of the man-cub raised as a wolf, able to speak to all jungle creatures... the memory warmed her, somehow.

_Rest, _the wolf said in her mind. _I will be your pack and guard you through the night. When you wake, you must face your chimera._

_- To Be Continued - _


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: G.I. Joe and all associated characters and concepts are property of Hasbro Inc. and IDW comics. I'm just one of a large family of fans who likes telling family stories – no profit needed, no profit earned.

**Author's Note:** A few folks have commented that they figured out that the wolf is Snake Eyes. Well, yes and no. In meditative healing, particularly in the ninja tradition, the meditator is simply the channel for the energy of healing. It is bad form to try to direct the energy - one simply sends it forth to do its work. As a result, while the wolf DOES represent the healing energy Snake Eyes is channeling through his meditative state, he is not at all aware of the form it takes in Scarlett's mind. Upon waking, he has no knowlege of the wolf Scarlett met in her dream-state, nor of what was said between them. The chimera, by the by, is not Scarlett's fear of the man nor of her inability to deal with the memories... the chimera of her dream is the fear of facing Snake Eyes, as she blames herself for hurting him. In wounding and healing the wolf, in accepting his companionship and listening to him, she is allowing the healing earth energy to strengthen her, allowing her to face the chimera of a wakeful Snake Eyes - and whatever may happen after that.

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><p><strong>GATES OF SLEEP<strong> by Catwings 1026

Scarlett came awake in an instant, eyes snapping open, as though some sound had jarred her into wakefulness. It took her a moment to remember exactly where she was – she was aware first of the ache in her neck where her head had been tilted at an odd angle, then of the sore spot in the base of her spine. Everything else seemed unreal, however… distant, dreamlike. Where was the forest? She'd last remembered the forest, and the wolf. The blue-eyed wolf.

_You must face your chimera… _Already it was fading, as dreams will; she remembered a sense of something large and menacing. Something that she had to face. _But… the wolf said that I couldn't fight it. That if I tried, I wouldn't win. _For a moment, reality seemed to shift around her, and she experienced a moment of confusion. The hospital room, the chair, the sounds – all seemed distant, removed. Then, as her awareness grew, the real world asserted itself. It was just a dream. And she was awake now.

She glanced about the room, saying a silent prayer that she wouldn't find Duke sitting somewhere behind her… that would be too embarrassing, after sending him off the way she had. But no, she was alone in the room, except for Snake Eyes. Not even a doctor in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Then she turned to the bed, and flinched.

Except for a very much awake Snake Eyes.

A very much awake Snake Eyes who was watching her intently… with very, very blue eyes. Eyes that were… familiar, somehow. Her eyes narrowed, then widened.

_The wolf… how could he have the wolf's eyes?_

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><p>Snake Eyes had wakened to the gentle throbbing of his face under the bandages, and the sensation of someone close by his bedside. He opened his eyes the merest slit, but held his head still. The corpsman, occupied in changing his IV drip, did not notice until he opened his eyes fully.<p>

"Mornin'. How's the pain?" Snake Eyes held up two fingers, then five, and the corpsman nodded. "Two out of five? Good. A fresh drip should keep it that way. Doc will be checking on you soon."

Another sound, a soft mutter, drew Snake Eyes' attention to the other side of the bed. Scarlett, her head tilted at what must be a most uncomfortable angle, slept in the rigid chair. She frowned in her sleep, muttered again. The corpsman, following his gaze, smiled.

"Been there since you got in," he said. "Gave the fella who wanted her to take a break hell, my buddy said. Your lady?"

_No._ Snake Eyes shook his head without turning, eyes moving over the sleeping figure.

"No? Dang, man, you got yourself one hot looking friend, then."

Now Snake Eyes turned to face the corpsman again, who, finding himself fixed in an unsettling glare, had the good grace to flush and mutter something more polite under his breath before taking his leave. Snake Eyes pushed himself up to a sitting position, cast about, and found the pen and paper on the stand by his bed. He scratched out a quick note, turned the pad down on his lap, and settled back to wait.

He had watched many people sleep in his time. Too often, it was part of a mission. Too often, it was in the moments before a very sharp blade assured that the sleeper never woke. He found his eyes drawn to the base of her neck, unconsciously identifying the location of the cartoid arteries, noting the smooth whiteness of her skin, noting where the cut would need to be made for a quick death. Shaking himself slightly, he frowned beneath the bandages.

_Old habits die hard._

He allowed his eyes to move to her face, to the slight creasing of her brow even in sleep, as though some dream unsettled her. The crease became a frown as he watched, and her hand twitched upward, warding off something unseen by waking eyes. Snake Eyes had the momentary impulse to catch her hand… but held himself back.

Her eyes flashed wide in that moment, suddenly coming awake, and she sat up, wincing as she scanned the room. The dream-unease faded as wakefulness grew, replaced with a slight wariness. She looked away from him first, as though seeking someone else… but her eyes returned to him soon enough, and when she met his gaze, when she realized that he was fully awake and watching her, she twitched. A spasm of… guilt? embarrassment? something else?... crossed her face. He wished he could smile at her, put her at ease somehow, but all he could do was pass her the pad of paper.

_Good morning. Sleep well?_

She flushed deeper now, dropped her eyes for a moment, her lips seeming about to speak. Then, resolute, she looked at him again, fully in the face now. Their eyes met and held, his blue, hers green, and he watched as hers widened briefly, then half-squinted as though in confusion, or as if she were trying to place something in her mind. It was not his face she was focusing on… not the bandages, not what lay beneath. His eyes – she was focused entirely on his eyes, hers searching for… something. He tilted his head slightly.

_What? _

"Your eyes," she finally said, responding to his silent question and shaking her head as though to clear it. "I… you…" She looked at him again, her gaze guarded now; he could see her rephrasing what she'd been about to say – and he sensed that Scarlett was not one to be at a loss for words, ever. "You have… nice eyes," she concluded, somewhat lamely. There was more to it than that, but whatever it was, she wouldn't say. Not now, anyway.

He dropped his chin and tilted his head slightly towards her, looking at her from an angle - if he'd been able to raise his eyebrows, he would have. _Body language translation – oooohkay. Right..._

He recalled one of the few ASL hand signs he'd picked up somewhere and touched his lips, bringing the hand away like blowing a kiss. Then he indicated her, pointing, and held up two fingers.

_Thanks. You, too._

He reached over, took one of her hands, squeezed gently, trying to convey to her what he could not say aloud. _Hey_. _It's going to be all right. Really._

She slipped her hand away, too quickly, folding her arms across herself, looking at the floor. She drew a breath, a shuddering breath, and he could feel her summoning courage.

"Snake Eyes?"

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><p><em>You must face your chimera, <em>the wolf had told her. But facing that monster would be a hundred, a thousand times easier than what she faced now. Hell, she'd even take on Chimera-the-man again, one on one. Fighting, she understood. She knew she could fight. But this…

He seemed to be so very calm. At the very least, she'd expected to have to battle her way past his physical pain… at the worst, deal with his anger, with blame directed rightfully at her. Anger, too, was something she could deal with. She'd had three older brothers, after all, who dealt with anger in typically forthright male ways, even to their younger sister… and she'd had a sister and mother who excelled in emotional warfare of a subtler sort. So she knew anger, and knew how to guard herself against it.

But Snake Eyes gave no indication of being angry with her. That set her off-balance… was he hiding it? She couldn't see his face, but his body language, his eyes, none of it spoke to repressed anger. Why?

She was trembling now, and hating herself for it… for the weakness, for the guilt. If, at least, he was angry with her, if he showed his anger, she would be able to put that wall up between them – apologize, then walk away. Let things work themselves out in kind.

_But this… this is worse, somehow. It's like facing down a monster that's standing perfectly still… not knowing what it can do, or when it will charge, or what will set it off… _

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><p>Snake Eyes waited for her to look back up at him, did his best to adjust his body language to convey nothing but relaxed attention. He knew what she was going to say, sensed it, and just wanted her to get it out and over with… he could tell, just by looking at her tensed shoulders, her knotted fingers, that this was hard for her. She'd sat by his side all night. She'd pulled him from the pit when his strength was almost gone, then held him until the blackness took him. And still, speaking to him now was harder than any of that had been for her.<p>

_Go on, _he nodded, when she finally looked at him again. In her turn, she nodded back, moistened her lips, and spoke.

"I… I'm not really sure how to say this. It's hard to know what… or how. But… I want to thank you. Thank you for being there. With Chimera. He… I…"

Her voice was trembling. Was she frightened? This warrior woman, frightened? If so… of what? Was she expecting him to be angry with her? To blame her?

_Not entirely unreasonable to expect… if I was anyone else, I might be, I suppose._

She was forcing herself onward. "I also want to say… to say that I'm sorry. It's my fault you're here. My fault that… your face…"

She looked so utterly miserable, her face drawn and pale, her voice sounding so thin and strained, that he couldn't bear to hear her stumbling over each word. _That _could make him angry, if he let it… the faltering, the fear in her. It was beneath them, both of them, soldier to soldier.

_Any soldier knows shit happens. _Somehow, though, he sensed that wouldn't make her feel any better, if he reminded her of it. He snapped, softly, to get her attention. The he gestured, miming the pencil and paper, took the pad back when she passed it over.

_Not. Your. Fault._ he wrote, carefully forming each word. Reading beside him, Scarlett shook her head, beginning to protest.

"It IS my fault. Snake Eyes… if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't been trying to help me…" He fixed her with a look that cut her off midsentence, then underlined each word he'd written several times, snapping the pencil tip in his emphasis.

**_NOT! YOUR. FAULT._**

_You would have done the same for me, _he added after a moment. _Or for Duke, for Stalker, for our team. If I was in your chair right now, if you were in this bed, would you be blaming me?_

She fell silent, eyes dropping to her lap, to her own knitted fingers. It wasn't a question she had considered. She tried to speak, but broke off when the words refused to come. Finally, a whisper – painfully hoarse, achingly miserable. "But… your face…"

He considered this for a moment, pondering which course to pursue, settled on one that made his lips curve slightly beneath the bandages_. Damn, that hurt…_ but he couldn't, he wouldn't, let on to Scarlett. He scribbled briefly, then handed her the pad.

_Never that good looking to begin with_. He watched her mouth the words, brow furrowing, and could see her nearly accepting the joke, only to have the guilt subsume her features again. He took the pad back, wrote again, placed it in her hands. _And they say chicks dig a guy with a few scars._

At that, she snorted an involuntarily laugh – the reaction of a girl with too many older brothers, of a woman who spent most of her waking time in the company of men, and when she looked at him again, there was a faint sparkle to her eyes that had not been there a moment before… and a tiny smile, just a bit sad, but still a smile.

"They do, huh?"

He nodded once, solemnly. _Of course they do. _

"So… we're friends now?" He sighed inwardly. How to respond to that? She'd need time to let go of the guilt, the grief. It was still there, in her voice, behind her eyes. She'd need time to learn that he meant what he'd said, to learn to trust him the way he knew, deeply and intuitively, he could trust her.

He could sense that her _qi_, her life force, was clouded now – but beneath the fog of self-blame and doubt, it was strong, steady, unwavering. The clouds around her would lift, given time, and when they did – she would shine. She would give her life for her friends, for her family, this one. She would be a good friend to have… given time.

He held out his hand to her, palm up, not demanding she take it, not siezing hers… offering. After a moment, she slipped her hand into his, allowed his fingers to close around hers, a gentle, affirming grip.

_Yes. Friends now,_ the pressure said. He squeezed once, nodded_. You'll see._

Scarlett smiled, as though he'd spoken aloud, and lowered her eyes… but she did not release his hand.

-END-


End file.
